


Pulling Strings

by Chloe_Hallow_Eve



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Sasha James, Canon Asexual Character, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Jon works with Georgie and Melanie on their shows, Web Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, au where Daisy and Jon are childhood friends, canon typical spooks, eventually, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chloe_Hallow_Eve/pseuds/Chloe_Hallow_Eve
Summary: When Jon was ten, he met a teenager who knew about monsters too. When Jon is twenty eight, they're still looking for answers. He finds some information when he and Melanie King gain access to the Magnus Institute library. In fact, he finds more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. When You Were Young

Seething, Daisy stomped down the sidewalk. School had let out hours ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to go home yet. Her dad would scold her when she did finally show up, but she didn’t care. All she could think was  _ fucking Calvin _ on loop, every repeat making her nails dig deeper into the meat of her palms. Another teen hospitalized, another crime no one could prove. Wasn’t that the police’s job? To prove crimes? The principal hadn’t even suspended Calvin, even though everyone knew it was him. 

When she became a cop, she’d make sure he’d never hurt anyone again. She was already taller and stronger than most people in her class. Getting into the police academy would be a sinch. For now, all she had to do was keep an eye on her ex-best friend. 

The sun was setting when she stumbled upon a kid. Looking like he was barely out of year four, he was crouched on a bench, one very beat up sneaker in hand. His clothes were baggy enough that Daisy couldn’t tell if he was rail thin or a little bigger. Judging from how his collarbones popped in his hunched position, barely visible under his shirt, she’d bet on the former. It was weird enough to stop Daisy in her tracks and stare. 

The kid raised his shoe higher, staring intently at something next to him. He looked so ridiculous with one socked foot barely touching the old bench and his school bag hanging off one shoulder that Daisy had to say something. 

“What are you doing?” 

The kid yelped, startling so bad he almost fell off the bench completely. Instead, he grabbed the back of it and ended up sitting awkwardly, staring at her with big dark eyes behind bigger wireframe glasses. They highlighted just how young he was. Maybe eight or nine. With quick, jerky movements, he got back onto his feet and curled into himself. 

When he spoke, it was in a mumble. “Saw a spider…”

Daisy’s eyes swept over the bench. She couldn’t see any, but spiders were fast buggers. Just because she couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. 

“You saw a spider and decided killing it would be better than finding a different bench?”

Colour rose high on his dark cheeks. He muttered something to himself, too quiet for her to hear, but slipped his shoe back on and hopped off the bench. Shrugging his backpack on fully, he kept his eyes on the bench, stepping away from it. 

Doing a quick sweep of the area, Daisy didn’t see any waiting cars or parents who stepped away to do something. The streetlights were starting to flicker to life, and the beginnings of a winter chill blew. The kid was too young to be out here by himself that late. Even Daisy had at least a couple friends with her, and would be heading home by now, when she was eleven. 

As casually as she could manage, Daisy tilted her head at the kid. “Waiting for someone to pick you up?” He shook his head. Daisy hummed. “Live in the area?” A pause, a glance up, then a hesitant nod. “Alright. Let’s get you back.”

His head snapped up, looking confused and panicked. “Uh, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine on my own?”

Daisy snorted. “Suns almost set, and you’re a kid. You’re not supposed to be out that late.”

He scowled, shoulders hiking up to his ears. “I’m not a kid. I’m ten! How do I know you’re not just trying to kidnap me?”

“I’m fifteen, why would I want to kidnap a kid? One day I’ll be a cop, too, and cops do this sort of thing. Walk lost kids home, check on random people.” At least, she assumed so. The police had to walk her and Calvin home a couple times before the incident when they got somewhere they weren’t supposed to. So walking this kid home would be good practice for the boring parts of the job. 

Shuffling, the kid looked around. Street lights started flickering on around them. He squinted at one, looking surprised. After a moment, he sighed, slumping a bit. 

“I live a couple blocks over. I don’t need someone to watch me.”

“Think of it as protection. What would you do if an actual kidnapper rolled up to you? You don’t look strong enough to snap a twig.”

Scowling, the kid eyed her. Then, abruptly, he turned around and started walking. Snorting, Daisy shoved her hands in her pockets and met his pace, catching up easy. He really was a tiny thing, head barely coming above her elbow. She didn’t know how tall ten year olds were supposed to be, but he still seemed small. 

After a moment, she spoke. “I’m Daisy.”

He gave her a look, frowning. “.....Jon.” 

They didn’t speak again after that. Daisy walked Jon to the beginning of his street, or so he insisted and Daisy didn’t quite believe, and he waved her off. Not all too keen to be so late home herself, she waved him off, heading back the way they came. It wasn’t like she’d see him again, anyways. No need to stick around. 

***

Despite her certainty, she kept bumping into Jon. It was always when she was storming through the streets to let off some steam, always when she wandered a little too far from home, and always when Jon seemed to be looking for spiders Daisy couldn’t see. It happened enough that Daisy just started expecting him to be wherever she walked, ready to be escorted home. 

She didn’t mind his company, even though he was ten. He wasn’t like the annoying kids that ran around her neighbourhood, screaming and flailing their limbs every which way, not caring where they landed. Jon was quiet, reserved, and would rather tuck into himself than take up space. Even when he started opening up, rambling about whatever book he’d torn through that week with waving hands and bright eyes, he kept to his own bubble. And he knew so much, more than some of Daisy’s own classmates. It was easy to let him talk and just listen without the expectation of a reply. 

They walked together so much that Jon eventually stopped trying to keep her from walking him all the way home. The first time she’d gotten all the way to his doorstep, Mrs. Sims, a severe older woman with tight lips and a tighter bun streaked with silver, had eyed her with slight disdain before politely thanking her. By the seventh time, Mrs. Sims just expected her there. 

It got to the point where she’d be asked to babysit when Mrs. Sims had to go out on the weekend and didn’t want to bring Jon along. Daisy would agree, mostly because her parents insisted it was a good chance to get some extra cash and take on responsibilities, but also because she liked Jon. Enough to tell him, one Saturday alone in his creaky house, about her name. 

Jon’s nose scrunched in confusion. “Why does everyone call you Daisy if your name is Alice?”

Daisy shrugged. “Got this scar on my back that the doctor said looked like a daisy. I think it looks more like a starburst, but whatever. When it scabbed over, and I showed the kids at school to gross them out, I told them what the doctor said about it and they just started calling me Daisy. I like it better than Alice, so I just started introducing myself like that.”

Nodding, Jon’s eyes gravitated to her shoulder, eyes wide and curious. That was something else she liked about Jon; he was honest. Not consciously so, hell he even tried to lie a couple times, but he was terrible at it. His reactions were too open for him to be any good. 

With a crooked smile, Daisy tilted her head. “Want to see it?” 

Jon’s eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. Laughing through her nose, Daisy turned and tugged the neck of her t-shirt down over her shoulder, pulling at the back until the scar was visible. Jon leaned in, eyes narrowing with scrutiny. It was getting less and less visible as she grew older, but it was still there. 

“How did you get it?”

Quiet, Daisy tapped her leg. “.....Met a monster.”

Behind her, Jon stilled. Daisy pulled her shirt back up and turned to him. He was looking at her with those eyes again, the ones that meant he was weighing saying something. Trepidation mixed with the need to be heard. He always did have a lot to say, even if he never said it. Daisy raised her brows in a silent question. 

Sitting back on his heels, Jon chewed at his lip, then his nails. “I’ve met a monster. A big one. Was yours big?”

“No.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the weird tingling feeling on the back of her neck. “More like a dangerous shadow. What about yours?”

She didn’t expect it to be much. Something in the closet, or under his bed, something common and easily disputed by a guardian. Instead, Jon talked about a book, and a door. One that opened and swallowed a kid whole, dragging him in with spindly, hairy legs. How jumpy he got around spiders started to make sense. 

“I tried to tell the police about it when they were looking for George,” he continued, eyes far away, “but they didn’t believe me. I don’t think they’ll ever find him.”

It was the name, more than anything, that made it click for Daisy. She remembered seeing missing kids posters around for a ‘George Smith’ or something like that a couple years ago. She could have still dismissed Jon’s story, call it a nightmare fuelled by the disappearance of someone he knew. But Jon was a bad liar. And even worse at telling a coherent story. 

And besides. She’d encountered something. Who was to say she was the only one?

“I believe you.” 

The plain relief that ran through Jon’s frame made him fall back on his butt with a soft ‘oof’. He sniffled, then rubbed at his eyes hard under his glasses. They would be very smudged later. Reaching over, Daisy put a gentle hand on his head, ruffling his hair. 

She forgot he was just ten sometimes. But this moment made him look younger than he was. Especially when his shoulders hiccuped, and she leaned forward to slip her arms around him and squeeze. 

After a moment of him frantically scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeves, Jon looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Hey, Daisy?”

“Hm?”

“Can you… Can we stick together? Since we both saw monsters. We can protect each other from more.”

Daisy couldn’t help the twitch of her lips. “You jump at your shadow, Jon. What can you do against a monster?”

Tears forgotten, Jon puffed up irritably like a bird. “I can still swing a stick! I’m not helpless!” 

“Sure.” She ruffled his hair again. “Guess I should stick around to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble then, huh?”

Jon squawked and swatted at her hand. He also looked relieved under all the indignation. Such a bad liar. Daisy couldn’t wait to embarrass him for the foreseeable future. 


	2. All Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon does some work. Him and Melanie discuss The Magnus Institute.

Every morning started the same. Jon would wake up to his alarm at seven, struggle out of bed, clean up and get dressed. As he exited the bathroom, Daisy would enter, getting ready herself as Jon made them breakfast. Daisy would join him shortly, packing her lunch for the day. They’d eat quickly at the small table they’d shoved against the wall, mutter to each other about grabbing everything they needed, then head out. Daisy was the only one with a driver's license, so she’d drive him to Georgie’s flat, then go to her own mysterious job. Always mysterious, that one. 

The commute was calm. Always was. Daisy, in the driver's seat, kept her eyes on the road. She didn’t like distractions. So Jon kept to himself, going over the scripts and personal timeline for the next week. 

Working with Georgie and Melanie on their shows wasn’t always the easiest, especially when Melanie and him had very different ideas on what direction to take each episode of Ghost Hunt UK. Georgie always insisted on terrible sound effects for What the Ghost, Melanie was insistent on exploring old and dangerous supposed haunts, and Daisy just gave him teasing smirks when he got too worked up. It was infuriating. 

It was also rewarding. Through helping the girls with research for their shows, he was allowed peeks into the world he’d seen as a child. The one Daisy and him spent hours scouring books on as teens. The one Daisy had encountered when she’d been sectioned, back when she was still a cop. And maybe, if Jon gathered enough pieces, a picture would form eventually. 

That and Georgie was his friend. He was glad she asked him to help her with her podcast when she was just starting out. It had gained traction after some hard work, only increasing in popularity when they’d asked Melanie to do a cameo. Things just snowballed from there. 

He wasn’t entirely sure if he and Melanie were friends. They bickered too much, fought over the most inconsequential things. It had calmed down over the months of forced exposure through Georgie, double so when Jon had offered to be Melanie’s new crew member when her people started dropping out. But that didn’t make them friends, necessarily. Just co-workers. 

Shaking out of his train of thought, Jon looked back down at the papers in his hands. Editing today, researching tomorrow, looking into new haunts with Melanie Wednesday, recording with Georgie Thursday, then more editing and research at the end of the week. Jon had a habit of carrying those activities over through the weekend, but it hadn’t been a bad thing yet. Despite what Daisy said whenever she dragged him out of his room. 

Feeling the car pull to a stop, Jon glanced out the window. They were outside of Georgie’s building. Shoving the papers unceremoniously back into his bag, Jon unbuckled and opened the door. 

“Thank you, Daisy. Be careful doing... whatever it is you do.”

Daisy huffed. “Sure. Don’t let Melanie kill you.”

Huffing, annoyed at Daisy’s amusement, Jon climbed out and up to Georgie’s flat. He knocked twice, sharply, on her door. A short woman with blue hair and dark roots was the one to answer it. She eyed him critically. 

“What’s the password?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “We’re not in primary. Let me in, Melanie.” 

Leaning against the door, Melanie crossed her arms and arched a brow. “Yes, because the surefire way to get someone on your side the quickest is to say ‘let me in’. Not like every horror film ever made is sure to make a point to never let that person in. And you’re weird enough to be a secret killer. Maybe we should do an episode on you.”

Jon took a breath, a sharp response on his tongue, when Georgie appeared behind Melanie. Her hair was held up with a bandanna today, dark curls forming a ball at the top. Her eyes were crinkled with restrained laughter. 

“Come on, Mel, stop giving him a hard time.” 

With a sigh, Melanie slipped out of the way and walked back down the hall, waving a dismissive hand. “I think I’m allowed to give him a hard time when he’s such a prick.” 

Georgie smiled. “Ignore her. She’s in a mood. Come on in!” 

Offering her a small smile, Jon slipped in. The Admiral, a large orange fluffball he’d helped adopt with Georgie near the end of their college days, immediately patted over with a meow. Indulgently, Jon scooped him up and muttered a hello into his fur, which awarded him a purr. Melanie snorted from somewhere further in the flat. Ignoring her, Jon kicked off his shoes and made his way to the armchair he usually set up in during work hours. 

Not the most comfortable place to set up, but it worked fine. The Admiral usually took up his lap, so he always put his laptop on the arm. Melanie was across from him on the couch, feet up, her own laptop resting precariously on her knees. Georgie always worked in her makeshift recording room, as it had a desk. She always offered to let them work there, and was always turned down. 

As if on cue, Georgie looked between them. “Either of you want to take the desk?” Twin negative responses met her question. Nodding, she walked towards the room. “You know where to find me if you change your mind. Oh, and Jon, we’re out of chamomile, but there’s some herbal blends in the cupboard if you want any. Help yourself.”

Jon made a vague noise of affirmation, already absorbed in opening various tabs with the script and information and double checking everything was good, adding tidbits here and there. His position among the group wasn’t a glorious one- he generally did most of the research and tested the scripts to himself, making sure they kept within the allotted time, and helped record or film- but sometimes he would appear on episodes. Georgie liked to call them the ‘extra spooky’ additions, as he had a habit of acting the stories he read dramatically. Melanie used him as the channel debunker, having him on camera just to give the camera a tired look and say something to the effect of ‘dust particles are hardly anything to get excited about’. They thought the contrast of him on WTG and GHUK were hilarious. Jon just saw it as stating facts. 

Some hours later, Melanie closed her laptop with an annoyed huff and stretched, something in her body popping. “Christ. The longer I do this, the less areas there are to investigate. Maybe I should start poking around the rest of Europe, they’re bound to have more interesting haunts than a smattering of alleged personal hauntings.”

Glancing up from his work, Jon furrowed his brows. “That’s not... a bad idea, though if you decide on it, we’d have to make a trip of it. Give Georgie- invite her, or warn her. Are you running out of grey ladies in the UK already?” 

“Sort of.” She arched over the arm of the couch, running her hands through her hair. Jon winced at the couple of pops he heard, but Melanie seemed unfazed. “Not just grey ladies. Feels like I’m chasing shadows now. And don’t you dare say anything, I know how you feel about this.” Punctuating her sentence with a glare, she snapped back up to sitting as Jon muttered about not saying anything. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you find me a new and shiny place to check out?”

“You mean my- the thing I do for a living? The one you... pay me for?” 

“Shut up.” Standing, Melanie waved an annoyed hand at him. “I’m taking a break. Want anything?”

“Oh, uh.” Glancing down at the cat in his lap, then his laptop, and around to the table between the armchair, couch, and TV, Jon shrugged. “Just tea, if it’s- if you don’t mind.” 

“Sure.” 

Watching her go, Jon tapped his fingers along the keys of his laptop. She was right. The longer her show went on, the harder it was to find haunted places that hadn’t already been picked over. It could be interesting to compare different peoples findings of the same place- as was the scientific method- but that could only go on for so long. As loathe as he was to admit it, Melanie was onto something with her ideas of expanding the search, looking for off limit places or overlooked areas, or even possibly heading somewhere much more dangerous. He wasn’t a fan of the idea of diving into caves or tromping through the woods to find a cliff, but Melanie would probably find it exciting. 

Movement just to the right of his gaze broke Jon out of his thoughts. On the wall outside the kitchen, crawling slow, was a spider. Not that big, legs reaching just past the side of a two euro coin. Just big enough to catch his attention. 

With a sigh, Jon grabbed a couple pieces of paper from his bag, gently disturbing The Admiral until he got off his lap with a complaining meow. Jon would prefer someone else to deal with it, but the window was cracked open anyways. He hadn’t spent all that time desensitising himself to the critters with Daisy to go around squashing the things now. 

As he approached, he eyed the skull shape on its back. There was no red on it, so it was most likely a false widow. Not fatal to humans, but could still administer a painful bite if threatened. Not that many spiders had bitten Jon in his lifetime, despite them seeming to exist around every corner. He was still cautious in shooing it onto the first paper with the other. 

Once on the paper, it spread its legs out in what Jon perceived a relaxed manner. It didn’t try to move, so he took a longer look. It was brown and black, with quite a distinct skull. Surprisingly so. Jon narrowed his eyes. It wouldn’t be odd to see a false widow anywhere, it was fairly common in England, but it was suspicious to find it in Georgie’s home specifically. 

She’d told him about her supernatural experience when they neared graduation in uni. They were rooming at the time, The Admiral a new addition. It was late at night, one of those times you stay up talking about nonsense. She’d asked if he believed in ghosts. He’d said yes, but that he’d never seen one. She asked if he’d met anything else odd. He dodged the question, which was probably suspicious enough that she decided to start with her own story. In turn, he told her his. They’d stuck together since then, even after the break-up. It was so rare to find someone who knew what it was like to be that scared, even if Georgie could no longer feel fear at all and it was a distant childhood memory for Jon. 

The theme of death in her story was what made Jon so suspicious of the spider on the paper. He knew for a fact spiders weren’t innocent- they always seemed to be there for important moments or decisions, though he couldn’t fathom why- and its presence made Jon analyze the area carefully. Nothing was amiss. He could hear Georgie muttering to herself as she worked, and Melanie puttering about the kitchen. It smelled like cats and oncoming rain. Everything was where he left it. 

After a moment, he slowly accepted it might be a fluke, and walked to the window. The false widow simply scuttled away when he brushed it out the window onto the fire escape, leaving Jon to his vague paranoia. 

Melanie came back as he was slipping the papers back into his bag, setting his tea on the corner of the table closest to the armchair. “Here you are, one criminally sweet tea for the bitterest prick I know.” 

“I don’t think you have room to speak.” He still picked the cup up, taking a thoughtful sip while watching Melanie situate herself back on the couch. He thought of her complaint, then the spider. “Have you heard of The Magnus Institute?”

Melanie looked up, silent for a moment as she processed the sharp turn in the conversation. “That’s that… weird old place filled with allegedly supernatural stories, right? One the crackheads and paranoids go to dump their baggage off?” 

Jon huffed. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. I did some research on it a while ago, before Georgie asked me to help her with the podcast. I thought about applying for a researcher position, actually.” Clearing his throat, Jon shifted. “It’s a research institute for all things paranormal and esoteric. And yes, while there’s probably quite a few… crackhead and paranoid ramblings, there, they probably have some things with actual weight to them.” 

Melanie snorted, giving him a disbelieving brow raise. “Such as?”

“Such as places with many paranormal instances.” He shrugged. “Of course, it would- we would have to be, er, critical, of anything we looked into. And we would need a way to access their library. From what I can remember, they allow access to students, researchers, and those granted permission by the head. We are, unfortunately, none of those.” 

Contemplating, Melanie tapped her own mug. “What are the chances we’d get an affirmative from whatever old white man that runs the place within a couple weeks?” Jon gave her a look. She clicked her tongue. “Point taken. Suppose we could go and say we were there to make a statement.”

Jon frowned. He… didn’t like the idea of that. Just the thought of telling someone about Mr. Spider to be analyzed and researched sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to go for information, not to be picked apart and dismissed. 

“I don’t think- It’s, er-” After a couple false starts, Jon took a breath to gather his thoughts. “Despite the place being a… well, a joke, to the academic community, they probably have some actually well trained employees who would see through a fake story easily. I don’t think that would win us any favours.” 

Melanie nodded absently. Frowning, she stared at her mug. Or, at her hands. She flexed one, slow, then looked at him again. “I’ve got a story I could tell. We go in, I spill, and you make friends with the employees while you wait. Or at the very least don’t be the biggest dick to them. We’ve got connections to form, don’t make it so we can never step foot in there again.”

“Wh- I don’t-” Bristling, Jon sat up straight, both annoyed at Melanie’s jab and the thought of her placing herself in the way of scrutiny. As much as he hated it, he didn’t feel right about letting the people he knew do it either. 

Then he paused. There was a fire in Melanie’s eyes, the look she got when she wouldn’t back down from anything. No matter if she had to do it alone. Jon knew that feeling, and it irritated him to see her so stubborn. But she was right. There wouldn’t be any other good chance to get in there. 

“Fine,” He snapped, “when do we go then?” 

“Wednesday. That’s when we look into places anyways. Best to do it during the day. Less crowding.” 

“Right.” He let out a slow breath, looking back at his laptop. “Right. Try not to pick a fight while we’re there.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

Jon’s mouth twitched up. He went back to work, already planning to do some extra research on how to make polite conversation when he got home. Being sociable was not his strong suit, and they couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need to reiterate I have no plan for this. I have a vague plot, and moments I want to happen. But otherwise it's just kinda... there. I'll write when I wanna, and update when I finish a chapter. This is purely a self-indulgent, fuck-it fic!


	3. Who You Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy lives, and reflects. And maybe h-holds a gorls hand....

When Daisy slipped out of her room Wednesday morning, Jon was still in his room, pyjamas on, rummaging through his closet and muttering to himself. She watched him for a moment as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes, squinting. Eventually she shrugged, hiking her pile of clothes for the day higher in her arms, and headed for the bathroom. She had to wash off her morning workout, she could figure out what was keeping Jon all twisted up after. 

As she finished up, stepping out of the steam cloud behind her and into the hall, Jon’s head poked out of his room. Silently, he held up two button ups. One was a dark green, the other a purple she’d picked out for him. She contemplated the choices for a moment. 

“What kind of place are you going to?”

“A research institute. Though not- not as an official researcher. It’s more of a-” Jon waved a hand, shirt rippling with his movements, “it’s kind of a social call, I suppose? Recon. Melanie called it ‘making connections’.” 

“Purple.” She walked to her bedroom door frame, tossing her workout clothes into her hamper, grabbed her phone off her bedside table, then headed for the kitchen. “Makes you look less stuffy. How do you feel about beans on toast?”

“Oh, that’s- it’s alright Daisy, I can still make breakfast.” 

Shrugging, she waved him off. “Go get cleaned up, I’ve got this. You can get me a danish while you're out as payment.” 

Huffing, Jon slunk across the hall. The bathroom door shut with a gentle click. Stretching, Daisy walked into the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients. 

While the beans cooked, her phone buzzed. Glancing at it revealed Basira had sent her an address. Daisy sent a quick confirmation back, shoving the phone back in her pocket and finishing breakfast. 

She was setting the plates on the table when Jon came in, muttering over some papers. Taking a moment to glance him over, Daisy noted the dress shoes and work pants- the pair Jon bought for his days working at a library before Georgie offered him a position. Melanie was going to make fun of him the moment she saw him. Daisy couldn’t keep a teasing smirk off her mouth either. With his grey-streaked hair gelled back into a low ponytail, Jon looked ten years older than he was. He’d even pulled on a charcoal sweater vest, just to make the look scream ‘I got my look from a 1980’s librarian’. 

Glancing up, Jon did a double take at Daisy’s expression. “What?”

“Nothing.” Shrugging, Daisy sat. “Surprised you didn’t grab the glasses with a chain on them is all.” 

Brows furrowing, Jon also took a seat. “I don’t have-? Oh. I see.” He gave her a look. “I’m aware I look like a- I look… a bit uptight. I suppose. But it’s- there’s a good reason. I don’t want to walk into a research facility in- in joggers and a worn shirt. It’s not Georgie’s flat.” 

“I know.” Taking a bite of bean toast, Daisy gestured at him with her chin, next words muffled by food. “Sweater vest with gelled hair is just an interesting choice. Makes you look so high strung it wouldn’t surprise me to see the circulation in your fingers cut off.” 

Huffing, Jon waved his papers at her. “I don’t think the woman who wears cargo shorts in winter can say anything.” 

“I like the pockets.” 

“Yes, and even Melanie has said they’re more terrible than anything in my wardrobe.” 

“Melanie would wear coloured contacts seriously. The only one who can judge my closet is Georgie.” 

Laughing through his nose, Jon finally picked up his breakfast, setting his papers to the side. “That’s fair. I’d say the same, but I’ve caught her sporting her own merch too often.” 

“You mean _your_ own merch.” 

“Yes, yes.” Jon rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face. It made Daisy smile too. “I’ll be meeting Melanie near the tube today, so I won’t be catching a ride with you. We’re going to a café near the institute to go over our plan once more. I’ll pick you up a danish while there.” 

“You better.” 

***

Daisy pulled up to the unassuming, unmarked building a little early. Even so, Basira rapped on the passenger side window and slid in when Daisy unlocked the door only a handful of minutes later. She was in her civvies, hijab tucked neatly into her jacket, balancing a tray with tea cups and pastries in one hand. 

“You’re early,” she said in lieu of a greeting, handing Daisy a warm cuppa. 

“Didn’t have to drive Jon today.” 

Basira hummed. “Is he still on for drinks Saturday?” 

“Should be, unless something changes.” 

Nodding, Basire kept her eyes on the building, taking a sip over her tea. Stake-outs weren’t Daisy’s favourite thing, she much preferred tracking down criminals, but there was only so much she could do as a police consultant. Some limited freedoms, and more management than when she was sectioned. But it didn’t give her access to a gun, or put her directly in the line of fire, or others in her line of fire, time and time again. A lot more advising than before. It was better that way. 

Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t still track down and catch monsters. She just had to drag them to Basira and let her decide if they were human enough, and guilty enough, to be incarcerated. If they were too far gone, they were… dealt with. If not, and could have crimes proved, they go tossed to the system. 

Daisy felt a little guilty about it. Not the job itself, it was satisfying work (when her and Basira could call each other out if they were abusing their privileges- that was something they had to work to get good at). But about not telling Jon. He’d been the one to sit her down after she buried Calvin and came home with blood under her nails and a snarl on her lips. He was the one who fought with her about how far she was slipping. He was the one who ignored her huffily, angry and righteous, when she refused to quit. He had taken her hand and gave it a squeeze after she admitted he hadn’t been the last she’d taken out to that field in the middle of nowhere. Hadn’t flinched when she said she wasn’t sure if they were as guilty as she thought, as deserving as she wanted them to be. Had helped her write and sign her letter of resignation. 

It felt like a betrayal when she’d taken her superiors up on their offer to become a consultant. 

No one came in or out of the building, but Daisy knew there were people there. The shadows inside cast too dark, too sharp for the soft cloudy lighting. She took a sip of her tea. 

“Do you think I should tell Jon soon?” 

It was a question she’d asked for years. A conversation she kept returning to. She couldn’t imagine it stopping soon. 

“Maybe.” The standard answer. “The longer you wait the harder it will be on him.” The common advice. “..... Not sure if I want you to, though.” 

The admission was new. By the slight frown on Basira’s lips when Daisy glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, it wasn’t something Basira had meant to say, either. But it felt true. 

“Why not?”

There was a long pause. Then she shrugged. “Last time you told him something, he convinced you to quit. You would have gone completely, too, if you’d told him you took a different position at the same place and he’d asked you to leave that behind.”

The unspoken ‘ _you would have left me behind’_ didn’t go unnoticed. Daisy offered her hand over the console between their seats. Basira took it, slotting her fingers between Daisy’s. 

It wasn’t something Daisy could reassure Basira about, because she’d be lying. She couldn’t say much of anything to that. It was true. But she could squeeze Basira’s hand, like Jon had hers- not a promise, just understanding. And she could help Basira with her case. 

Because sometimes it felt like this was the only thing she could do right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Canadian. Forgive my ignorance of British customs. I am doing my best. 
> 
> The chapters won't bounce between Daisy and Jon all the time- it will bounce around though. Probably land on Jon more oft than not, because I love him. 
> 
> Fun fact: Daisy was originally supposed to also be a crew member of Melanie's after she quit being a cop (ACAB), but then I realized her and Jon are too much like siblings to live and work together. They wouldn't survive. They need their me times.


	4. 9 to 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Melanie go to the institute. Jon makes some friends(?)

The building Jon and Melanie approached, after an hour and a half of bickering over tea at the café down the road, was tall and grey. There were pillars bracing the entrance and small detailed carvings along the edges, standard for old buildings, and lots of windows. There was a carving above the door, announcing that The Magnus Institute had been around since 1818, curved over the statue of an owl in a small alcove. The eyes were far too detailed. 

Wrinkling her nose, Melanie let out a slow breath. One of her hands came up to fiddle with her nose ring, a nervous tick Jon had picked up over the year of knowing and working with her. Jon wasn’t faring much better, constantly adjusting the edges of his dress shirt. 

“So…” Melanie looked at him, “is that owl watching us really intently, or is it just me?”

“No, it is rather…unpleasant to look at.” Brows furrowing, Jon finally looked away from the owl’s eyes and down to the door. “Right. Shall we?” 

Shrugging, Melanie took the lead, shouldering the door open. Following closely behind, Jon looked around the decently big space. The floor was a polished marble, adorned with an owl mosaic in green with the building name and date above, and the words ‘vigilo, opperior, audio’ below. There were some hallways leading away from the entrance, and some seats against the wall to their left close to a sturdy wooden desk. There was a single woman sitting behind it, middle aged and tapping away at her computer. The distant sounds of people echoed down the halls. 

Even though the entrance was empty, it inexplicably felt as though someone was watching them. It made Jon’s spine stand ramrod straight, looking nervously for judging eyes. 

After a moment's hesitation, Melanie made her way to the desk. As she and Jon approached, the woman looked up, smiling a pleasant customer smile. The nameplate on the front just read ‘Rosie’.

“Hello, welcome to The Magnus Institute. What can I do for you?” 

“I made an appointment to share a story? A, uh, spooky one?” 

“Oh! You’re Melanie then? Right on time.” She smiled again, pointing down the hall behind them. “Just head that way, the stairs are at the end. You go down to the basement, past artifact storage, and you’ll be in the archives! They’re the ones who take statement’s around here. The archive crew will take care of you from there!” 

“Right. Thanks.” With a nod, Melanie turned on her heel and began to walk. With little choice, Jon offered Rosie a stiff nod of his own, then hurried off after her. 

Melanie kept a quick pace all the way to the stairwell, where she paused on the landing. Jon gave her a concerned look when she gave a full body shiver. 

“You- er, are you alright?”

“Yeah, s’fine.” She rolled her shoulders a couple times, scowling. “Place just creeps me out.”

Jon hummed. There was an unpleasant atmosphere. Heavy. But saying so out loud seemed stupid. Instead, Jon peered down the stairs. “It will probably get more so in the basement.” 

Scoffing, Melanie rolled her eyes and started walking down. “Probably. Why are the archives in the basement, anyway? It’s like having a secret, glorified library.” 

“Maybe they wanted to make sure there was no chance of light exposure?” 

“Odd way of going about it.” 

Jon hummed in agreement. Pushing their way into the basement hall, they took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights. There were only three doors along the hall. One a heavy looking metal one, shut tight, the plaque outside stating it was artifact storage. The second was a thick wooden one some ways down, propped open by a brick. The last was at the other end of the hall, most likely another set of stairs. They walked past the metal door quickly, turning into the wooden door frame and taking the handful of steps down. 

A dozen steps through another hall lead them into a surprisingly spacious room. The floor was a nice wood, with a large carpet under three desks- two facing each other, the last against one end of the other two. There were only two people sitting at the desks, but there was a hallway and a door leading out of the room, so it was possible others were there. 

When they entered, the two at their desks looked at them, one having to turn in his seat to see. 

“Hey! Come on in.” Standing, the man approached, offering a hand. “I’m Tim. You’re Melanie, our ten, right?”

Tim was tall, or at least taller than Jon and Melanie, with broad shoulders and floppy hair. His skin was lighter than Jon’s, but darker than Melanie’s, and he had a roguish grin that matched his colourful shirt and tight jeans. He didn’t seem the academic type. 

Melanie sized him up, standing taller in her combat boots, and took his hand. “Yep. Are you who I tell my spooky story to?” 

Snorting, Tim grinned wider. “No, you’re looking for Sasha, our head archivist. I’ll grab her in a moment.” Once Melanie let go of his hand, he offered it to Jon. “Are you here to give a statement too?”

Jon startled. “Oh, uh, no, no. Just here for Melanie.” There was an awkward moment where Tim’s hand hovered, before Jon’s brain kicked into gear. “Oh! Yes, sorry. Jon.” 

Tim’s smile took on a remarkably more amused tone when Jon finally took his hand and shook twice. “Nice to meet you. I’ll be right back with the woman of the hour.” 

Walking backwards, Tim shot them finger guns, causing the man still sitting at his desk to snort, then hide behind his computer. With a pleased grin, Tim walked to the door, rapped against it twice, then went in. A moment later, he stepped out and waved Melanie forward. 

“You can head in, she’s all set up.” 

“Thanks.” She nudged Jon with her elbow. “See you on the other side.” 

“I hope not.” Pausing a moment to assess the raised brow look Jon received, he fumbled to explain. “Not that you don’t, don’t come back- just that, the expression originates from the sentiment of death, and I’d hope you wouldn’t-” Cutting himself off, Jon heaved a sigh. “Go tell your ghost story. I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

With a departing smirk, Melanie disappeared into the head archivists office. Which left Jon, alone, with a couple of strangers. Who he was supposed to actively get along with. 

This was a terrible plan. 

“So!” Tim exclaimed, drawing Jon’s attention before he could think of something to say. “Guess you’re stuck out here with us! Unless you plan on popping off and coming back in half an hour or so?”

“No, no. I’ll… I’m going to wait for her.” 

“Cool, cool. Want to pull up a chair then?” Tim nodded to the desks. “It’s just Martin, Sasha and myself down here, so there’s no one who’ll mind if you take the last seat.” 

Jon’s eyebrows lifted, but he nodded. Three employees in the archives didn’t seem like enough, did it? Well, it probably depended on how much work they had to do, and the institute budget. Both numbers that would probably surprise him. 

Tim led him to the desks. Both his and his coworkers had papers piled on them, all three supporting computers and monitors that looked like they came from the early 2000’s. Tim’s had various knicknacks- a pen mug with a rainbow shooting star and the words ‘the more you know, the gayer you grow’, a crystal paper weight, various colourful sticky notes- while his coworker only had a half empty cow mug and a stress ball shaped like a strawberry. The last desk was depressingly bare. Jon sat at it after a moment of hesitation, still eyeing their equipment. 

Tim caught his scrutinizing gaze and laughed. “I know, all the equipment down here is practically ancient. But it works better than our laptops, believe it or not. Sasha can only use hers because she’s some sort of tech wiz. Even our phones tend to act odd down here. I like to think it’s all the spooky stories.” 

“Or,” his coworker spoke for the first time, bright blue eyes peering through round glasses over his computer at Tim, “it’s because we’re in the basement.” 

“Come on, Martin, even you have to admit there’s some prime-o spooks down here. The malfunctioning tech isn’t the only spooky issue down here and you know it.” 

Shrugging, the papers in front of ‘Martin’s face dropped more, allowing Jon to see his soft cheeks and jaw, and a smattering of freckles that disappeared into thick wheat-coloured hair. “I don’t know, Tim. Maybe it’s connected to where all my pencils disappear to.” 

Flashing Martin a charming, innocent smile, Tim picked up a pencil and tapped his papers with it. “Guess it will all stay a mystery then!” 

It was the easy sort of workplace banter Jon knew spoke of long days during longer weeks on the job. The same he and Melanie had grown, or that he and Georgie shared in her recording room. It loosened some of the tension in Jon’s shoulders. Just enough for him to sit back and feel a little less like an intruder. 

That was probably why, when Tim said, “Honestly though, I really don’t understand why nothing works down here. Sure, concrete can do that, but that would mess with everything wouldn’t it? It has to be the ghosts of the statements,” Jon opened his mouth. 

“Actually, your computers work through your consoles, which are most likely hooked up physically to the building’s wifi router, hence the lag depending on where it is. Laptops and desktops don’t have this problem as they run everything from where they are, connecting to the internet via network connections which aren’t as tangible. If your problem was ghosts, it would only affect these computers minimally, as their own theorized electromagnetic interference can’t keep them from functioning properly. Much old technology or self-contained technology works better in truly haunted locations, due to their make or energy use. Batteries, mostly, but those can theoretically be drained, like….” Looking up, Jon trailed off as he noticed the stares he was getting. 

There was a long moment of silence before Jon snapped his mouth closed and curled his shoulders forward. Martin hid his face behind his papers and computer again. Tim’s mouth curled into a smile. 

“Have an interest in this sort of thing, do you?”

Pressing his lips thin, Jon pushed his glasses up and fiddled with his cuffs. “Somewhat.” Another silence followed. Clearing his throat, Jon forced himself to sit up straight. “What is it- uh, what do you do exactly? Here at the institute?”

Tim shrugged. “Elias, that’s the big honcho here, would have everyone out there believe it’s a proper scholarly institute that records, researches, and collects information of all things weird. And, I mean, that is technically true. Just a lot less cool than it sounds. We’re not Torchwood or anything.” 

“R...Right.” Jon pretended he knew what Torchwood was to keep the conversation moving. “And down here? Do you all, just… archive people’s stories?” 

“It _would_ just be that, plus some research we do ourselves, except the previous head archivist decided to see what kind of mess she could make over the course of a couple decades, and it’s now our job to clean it up.” 

“Oh,” a bit alarmed, Jon looked down the hall further into the archives, “it’s- is it that bad?” 

“Worse.” Tim motioned down the hall with his pencil, draping an arm over the back of his chair and tilting on to its back legs. “Just yesterday, we sent Martin into battle, and he came out with his hair a few shades lighter.”

“There wasn’t that much dust.” Martin rolled his eyes, then looked at Jon, smiling nervously. “It’s just, she was old, and didn’t have assistants. It- It couldn’t have been easy on her.” 

“I see. And…. how has the sorting been going?”

“Not- it’s not the worst it could be?”

Tim laughed. “Oh, of course, we could be actually haunted. Sasha at least knows what she’s doing enough that we can make some dents. We might even be able to finish sorting everything before we retire!” 

“It also doesn’t hurt that so many of the statements are so old, it’s tricky to get any proper follow up.” Martin shrugged. “It’s just…. time consuming. Which- which isn’t an issue either! I used to work up in the library, a-and Diana had me do a lot of scanning and sorting, which isn’t to say she was a bad boss-”

“Why all the questions?” Tim cut Martin off, which seemed to relieve his coworker. “Are you interested in a position? Or just intrigued by all the spooks around here? It’s alright if that’s it, lot’s of college kids come in because of our student policy and poke around.” 

“Oh, that’s not- I mean, I did look into applying for a researcher position, years ago, when I graduated,” Tim made a noise to signal interest, and Jon cleared his throat, “but no. I suppose I’m… curious? My… job- it has me looking into all sorts of things. I tend to end up within the supernatural and paranormal ends of the internet more often than not.” 

Martin perked up. “Oh? What do you do?”

Pausing, Jon thought of how to phrase it. Most people didn’t understand what he meant when he said he worked on a podcast and YouTube channel. “I… edit, and research, for the most part. I work with Melanie, and our friend, Georgie.” 

“That’s nice! Working with friends.” Martin gave him a smile. “It’s- it’s also nice that you came with Melanie. Lots of people- statement givers- are alone and... unsettled.” 

“Oh. I suppose.” 

In truth, Jon hadn’t even considered staying behind. And with how Melanie acted, she hadn’t either. She would have dragged him here one way or another, probably. But Jon was certain he would be there with her even when he suggested coming to the institute. Like whenever they staked out a place to see if it would suit filming- he always came, no matter if it was legal or not. The two of them were probably responsible for more than a few heart attacks on Georgie’s part. Or, as close as she could get, without a fear response. 

“If you do a lot of research, know any good ways to look into statements from 1998? I’ve been doing what I can, but you know how it can be.” 

“It- It depends? What are you working on?” 

Sliding over a folder, and ignoring Martin’s admonishing ‘Tim’, Tim flipped it open and pointed at the first page inside. “Statement of Joshua Gellespie, about a weird casket he looked after for a year. It was given in 1998, so all the information I’m looking for is already pretty old, but even then it’s hard to get anything concrete.” 

“Not surprising,” Jon muttered, glancing over the statement itself. “Are you sure it’s alright to be letting me look over official documentation like this?” Even as he said that, he wiped his fingers on his pants to remove extra oils and flipped through the pages. 

Tim waved a hand. “It’s fine. These cases become publicly accessible after we’re done with them anyways, and no one who doesn’t care about this sort of thing says ‘official documentation’.” 

Jon shot Tim a look, unsure if he should be uncomfortable or relieved to be teased so casually. He decided to ignore it in favour of pointing to a couple lines on the statement. “Have you looked into the delivery company and building?” 

“Somewhat. I was going to try getting in touch with Mr. Gellespie and get a follow through with him before digging deeper.” 

Jon hummed. Glancing at the computer in front of him, asleep, he pursed his lips. “Would you…. Could I try my hand at looking? I’m well acquainted with looking for obscure information by now.” 

“Sure. Let me log you in, these computers only work with employee ID’s.”

Martin continued to give Tim a wide eyed, disbelieving look all through the process of setting Jon up. Every so often, he’d glance at Jon, expression softening into one of those nervous smiles, before shooting Tim more looks. Tim, to his credit, was very good at ignoring them. Jon could understand Martin’s concerns, but at the same time, his curiosity had peaked. He would probably look through the information at home if he wasn’t allowed to do so at the moment. 

Luckily, Tim gave him full access to their employee resources and search assistance. Jon usually had to do all the digging on his own. It would be much easier like this. 

“Here you go!” Rolling away in his chair, back to his previous spot, Tim gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll try contacting Mr. Gellespie some more while you do that.” 

“Thank you,” Jon muttered distractedly, already clicking around and slumping into the information. 

Fifteen minutes later, the door Melanie had disappeared into swung back open. Both assistants and Jon froze where they were, like children caught sneaking candy into their bedrooms. Tim swivelled his chair around first, offering a bright grin. 

“Sasha, our wonderful boss and my longtime friend! How’d everything go?” 

Turning his head guiltily, Jon looked at the two women staring at them. Melanie looked like she couldn’t decide between laughter and exasperation, arms crossed and hip cocked. The woman next to her was tall, taller than Tim even if she wasn’t wearing low heels, with dark skin, reddish hair pulled back into a messy bun, and many more freckles than Martin. She looked solidly amused, eyebrows raised and smiling knowingly at Tim. 

“Well, thank you, Tim. By the way, did we get a new assistant while I was busy?”

“What do you mean?” Rolling over, Tim tossed an arm casually over Jon’s shoulders, causing him to startle. “Don’t you remember Jon? Our fellow employee, who has been here the entire time? I know he’s small and quiet, but really Sasha, to just forget his existence. Quite rude.” 

“Oh, of course! Jon!” Slapping a hand theatrically to her forehead, Sasha shook her head. “How could I have forgotten? So silly, the stress must be getting to me.” 

“You should take a break. Settle down away from the job for a moment, clear your head.” 

“Wonderful idea.” Turning to Melanie, Sasha gave her a smile. “I’ll put in a good word for you to get a couple library passes, and be sure to give you a call if we make any progress on your case.”

“Thanks, but I’m starting to reconsider giving him access to more work.” Melanie thumbed to Jon, making him scowl at her. 

Sasha laughed. “Well, if you find anything, be sure to let me know. I’m sort of curious about this now, too.” 

“Will do.” They shook hands, then Melanie stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket and nodded to the exit. “Come on, third assistant. Walk me out of your place of employment.” 

“Yes, yes, point taken.” 

“Bye Jon,” Tim patted his shoulder, “nice to know you.” 

Standing, Jon offered Tim and Martin a quick thanks and farewell, and an apology as he passed Sasha. She just gave him an amused, and curious, look, before bidding them farewell turning to her assistants. As he and Melanie left, they caught the tail end of her saying ‘we should probably talk about appropriate workplace-’ before it faded when they stepped into the hall to the stairs. 

Grinning, Melanie gave him a nudge. “So, have fun with your new friends at your new job? Always knew you’d make something of yourself.” 

“Shut up, Melanie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timothy 'if I smile and joke I'll get out of trouble' Stoker is the smartest dumbass and I will die on that hill. I have to stress, normally he would NOT do this. He just took one look at this short, scrawny, stiff, disgruntled man who tried his best to make very awkward conversation and most definitely knew his stuff, and accurately assessed him as harmless. 
> 
> There will be no consistent chapter length. I like to keep y'all guessing :)
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and bookmarks and kudos! Y'all are very sweet, and help motivate me to keep writing this. It's tons of fun, and I hope y'all continue to like it!

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely rancid update schedule. AKA, it does not exist. Best of luck to y'all.


End file.
